A Few Thoughts About Atlanta

Hitting pause and thinking a little bit about this week.

I didn’t send a newsletter out this week because of what happened in Atlanta. Imitation of the Rose doesn’t feel like the right place. I’ve done a lot of writing for T about being Asian American (I am mixed race), and you can read some of it here, here, here, and here if you’re curious.

It’s interesting to be what many call white passing. I personally don’t think I look that white, but I also don’t look very Chinese either. I think I look mixed race; I can always recognize when someone else is mixed race, too. Either way, my experience is very different from being Asian American. I’ve never been called a slur, though I’ve heard people use slurs in front of me, for example, or imitate an Asian accent to be funny and expect me to go along with it. What makes me ashamed are the times I didn’t say anything. I didn’t understand the power of speaking up. I know I’m given entry to white spaces and granted access into certain circles because of how I look and sound, and I should use that. Mostly, though, being mixed means people have assumptions about who you are and what you should feel (You’re lucky you look white, stop complaining). People feel comfortable probing into your life in a way they wouldn’t otherwise. They feel they deserve an explanation for not seeing it right away. (Do you speak Chinese? How come you’re so tall?) People project onto you. When I watched the Oprah-Meghan Markle interview, I was reminded of a past relationship, where my then-boyfriend’s grandmother discovered I was half-Chinese and asked, curiously, if that meant our children would have slanty eyes. Being mixed comes with its own form of exhaustion. A feeling of not belonging to either side, a feeling of having to justify being not fully one thing or the other.

I didn’t want to make this about me. I’m just trying to explain where my head is right now. What I do know is that, in the last weeks, I have begun to experience a new feeling I’ve never quite had before: fear. Nothing feels safe. I don’t mean for myself. More, I worry about family and friends who are of Asian descent or Asian American, and I don’t like that I can’t do anything about it. We need to talk about this, yes—please read Jay Kang or Hua Hsu or Cathy Park Hong—and I’m glad the conversation seems to be shifting to a national scale. I feel anger, sadness, fury and disgust, too, but the truth is, I’ve always felt those things. Here, I’m specifically referring to this general feeling of fear that I don’t know what to with or where to put it or how to make it go away. And that, unfortunately, may be the new reality we’re living in.